


shades of red

by foolshope



Category: Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bickering, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, but it's not particularly Unsatisfying either, gar feels guilty about the deathstroke thing :(, idk it's unfinished so it doesn't have a satisfying end, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolshope/pseuds/foolshope
Summary: it’s four days after the fact that gar finds himself stood in the doorway to jason’s hospital room.oddly enough, the first thing he notices is the smell; a mix of taco bell and antiseptic – unpleasant, but unexpected, and he hovers in place longer than he originally intended just to take it in.not that he originally intended to be here at all.-or, a divergent aftermath of the 2x05 hostage situation
Relationships: Garfield Logan & Jason Todd
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	shades of red

**Author's Note:**

> i was scrolling through my old google docs and i came upon this?? i'd completely forgotten about it and after rediscovering it i am SAD it's unfinished because i literally have notes in the doc for future parts, and i wanted it to be this long sort of collage of recovery for jason with gar but i (as i do) tapered off and dropped the ball :( but i also REALLY love the way i wrote gar?? idk how i did it, and i love the way i wrote their interactions, and i'm an attention whore so i have to post it even if it's unfinished :(
> 
> as usual, maybe one day i'll finish it? but that's really unlikely considering this doc is like a year old at this point and just feels really distant, but. rereading it i just couldn't Not post it; gar and jason's interactions are just too fun and fascinating to me ://
> 
> spoilers for up to 2x05 before becoming divergent
> 
> rated t for major character injury though not graphic, some swears idk
> 
> lyrics from sense of home by harrison storm literally only because i was listening to it while rereading lol

* * *

_for these words he won't come around here  
and his eyes won't see  
and you know he won't come around here  
he needs it to be _

* * *

it’s four days after the fact that gar finds himself stood in the doorway to jason’s hospital room.

oddly enough, the first thing he notices is the smell; a mix of taco bell and antiseptic – unpleasant, but unexpected, and he hovers in place longer than he originally intended just to take it in.

not that he originally intended to be here at all.

he wants to stop and backtrack to point a and figure out how this became his point b, wants to sort out the here from the there, the weightless fog both heavy and light that's shrouded his mind and body for the last ninety-six hours, a subversion of the adrenaline-bite clarity that'd permeated down to his very bones up until robin was brought back to the tower alive and well and _whole._

though technically more 'alive' and 'whole', less _'well',_ but that's neither here nor there. except jason must be well _enough_ because he's grinning that toothy grin around far too many layers of bandages and waving him over with the hand that isn't covered and elevated before gar can return to his senses (or back right out of them) and retreat back to that fog he's found to be his beacon of _safety_ for what feels like years rather than mere days.

maybe it has been years. (but who's counting?)

dick finally seems to notice his presence when he obeys, regains his footing only to get off of them upon the nearest seat available; the one placed closest to the door and furthest from jason's vantage point, perched at the edge of the makeshift circle 'round the hospital bed and at its feet, or more accurately _jason's_ feet, which mirror his hands in their dressings.

or his entire body, really. nearly from head to toe, the entire left side of him is mummified, the worst of it across his torso, reaching its way up his neck and around to conceal even most of his hair.

his stupid boy band hair. (like gar's one to talk.)

“hey,” yanks him from his thoughts that he hadn't quite realized were actually thoughts just yet (whatever that means), gaze levied to the source reclined in front of him until brown meets gray and the latter glints at him beneath the fluorescent lights in a way that makes him feel immediately apprehensive. (or guilty, though he doesn't need to see such specifics as eyes to feel that.) “it looks a lot worse than it feels.”

nope, definitely apprehensive.

(definitely guilty.)

it still takes him a moment to realize jason means himself.

means his condition. means his body, the bandages, the injuries.

he means half his entire fucking body wrapped up like the world's shittiest birthday present.

so he takes the deepest breath his lungs that don't quite feel like actual lungs just yet will allow before saying, “that's because you're high as a kite.”

that stupid fucking grin grows all the wider, and he feels his own lips twitch in response, though they can't manage more than a hair's width at the moment. he decides now is a good time to stare at dick's shoes.

“hell yeah, bro. got me on the good stuff. also, tacos. dick got me tacos. i think that's the nicest thing dick's ever done for me; probably the nicest thing he's done for _anybody,_ actually – ”

“that's – ...you know what, sure.” dick rubs a quick hand down from his brows to his nose as he speaks; an action that betrays something infinitely weary (more than even the usual levels of exasperation dick wears when breathing the same air as his successor), but there's a curl to his mouth and relief in his otherwise hollowed out gaze too that gar thinks should be taken into equal consideration. “maybe i should add taco delivery service to my list of alternative callings in life.”

a hair's width widens at that. (maybe two hairs' widths.)

jason's might as well widen to a canyon, face cracking open in a genuine sort of amusement that gar doesn't think he's seen on the other's particular set of features before. the laugh jostles the bed itself, which makes gar flinch in his seat, fingertips to wrists twitching, legs itching to unfold and hover in case of emergency because holy _shit that's gotta fucking_ hurt _moving at all with that many bandages why are there so many fucking_ bandages –

except jason is apparently more than well enough, higher than high as a kite, and his laugh tapers off to a drawn out giggle that makes gar feel silly for even worrying in the first place. when he glances at dick, that curl to his mouth too is wider than before, his relief palpable in the air exchanged between them.

gar decides now is _also_ a good time to stare at dick's shoes.

he's not sure how much time he hadn't quite realized was actually time passes between studying the surprisingly worn out laces and jason's next 'hey' that forces him to do something else with his face if he wants to not be an asshole.

brown meets gray once again and the latter glints only _slightly_ less than before.

gar is only slightly less apprehensive. (slightly.)

then jason holds up the familiar shape of a chock-full tortilla (only _slightly_ falling apart) and says, “taco?”

-

“so why'd it take you so long to visit me, tiger boy? busy chasing cars?”

“that's dogs.”

“mailmen?”

“still dogs.”

“yeah, well. fuck you. i bet you can turn into a dog just as easily, so – “

“i don't know.”

  
  


“i don't know why.”

-

“...as long as it’s not some guilt complex bullshit cause if it is i'll kick your tiger boy ass.”

-

“what happened?” he asks another four days later when he's feeling brave enough to, brain lit up in sputtering sparks and buzzing on too much caffeine and not enough sleep. he tries to watch for jason's reaction to the question itself, body language, micro-expressions, but everything's still a little blurry around the edges and he keeps squinting just to see through the lowlight this time of night.

regardless, he thinks the brief but still much longer than expected pause that immediately follows can speak for itself.

“psycho tried to blow me up," he answers, finally, just as gar was beginning to regret ever having opened his mouth, "... _failed,_ obviously, because i'm fucking awesome, but...” gar finds his eye stops twitching just in time to notice the slight hardening in the side of jason's jaw that's actually still visible.

he tries not to imagine what this means everything under the bandages looks like. tries not to imagine how smoothly all the dressing changes every day go, what dick sees as he goes through all the physical therapy exercises with him, how much painkiller jason's body needs every day just to stomach the passage of time, even more so just _eating,_ what this means for jason's future, _his life._ (what this means for anyone responsible for this.)

(he fails.)

(because that's what he does, apparently.)

_i'm so sorry,_ he thinks.

“...jesus christ,” he says.

he doesn't ask about what happened again.

-

today's not a good day.

for jason, anyway. gar's has been pretty par for the course; wake up an hour before noon after a night of sleep that's not quite actually sleep (at least not in a definitive sense, whatever that means), eat whatever breakfast (lunch? brunch? it was eggs and toast today) rachel managed to whip up hours before thanks to her early bird personality trait that nobody else in the tower seemed to share save one dick grayson, and then retreat to his room to commence staring at the wall for the indefinite future.

(if rachel doesn't drag him out of his funk by force, anyway.)

(until he decides to go visit jason, anyway.)

today, every flex and pull of jason's limbs is accompanied by an acute air of impatience, the boy's jaw constantly working and winding while uncharacteristically remaining _closed_ for the entirety of his physical therapy until the very last minute rolls its way between his teeth in a string of complaints.

(not that gar can really blame him.)

“ – it’s just – it’s the same fucking thing every fucking _day,_ man. just give me _something_ new _–_ hell, _anything._ ”

though, by the flat look that settles close in the thinning of dick's mouth and the glaze that creeps over his eyes, he'd seen it coming from a mile away. not that it'd take a genius to.

“you know we can’t do that, jason – ”

“why the hell _not?_ ”

the resignation, however, quickly transforms into something nearing incredulity; an expression that seems most often reserved solely for jason todd himself when it comes to dick. (the guy manages to get under his skin in a way no one else can.)

(not that gar can blame him.)

“ _'why the hell not?' jesus,_ jason, because – because every single thing you do right now impacts your _entire_ _future._ this is your fucking _life_ we're talking about; these aren't just some mindless exercises we do every day, they're _essential_ if you ever want to be even _close_ to the same as you were before.”

“you mean before some psychopath set me on fire and threw me out of a skyscraper? for fuck's sake, dick, you'd think we weren't fighting supervillains on the daily! what'd you expect? this was in the job description from the very beginning, but guess what? _i'm still alive,_ dude – i'm fucking _fine._ ”

gar suddenly wishes he stayed in his room to stare at the wall.

“you're ‘fucking fine’ _because_ we're doing these exercises. because we're taking it _slow,_ day by day, and not overdoing it the second you decide you _feel_ like it. 

and if you want to _stay_ fucking fine, you'll actually listen to me for once in your goddamn life and keep doing them.”

and that's that.

their leader already up and across the room with footsteps fading down the hall before even gar can think of anything to diffuse the situation. (not that he could in a million years.) it takes jason a beat, but he sits up that much straighter, as if dick were still four feet away instead of fourteen.

“yeah, well, it's _my_ fucking life, grayson; _not_ yours! so you can take your shitty bedside manner and shove it right back up your ass!”

(and gar supposes that's that too.)

and you know what, a wall is a wall; this one will do just fine.

-

“...he's just trying to help, you know.”

“well, _he's not._ ”

“fair enough.”

  
  


“but he _is_ trying. that... has to count for something, right?”

-

gar dreams in shades of red. 

gemstones embedded in the flesh of foreheads, liquid oozing from open vein turned punctured garden hose between his jaws, the taste of metal, a chiseled breastplate with throwing star r’s, emergency lights, a smear against the concrete, fire, open flame, biting, burning, eating – 

when he wakes, he does so with a jolt. 

his elbow hits something hard and the responding zing through his forearm is enough to wash the grogginess from his eyes, if not the ache in his jaw that tells of his teeth clenched tight even in sleep, and he notices the curve of an armrest at his wrist and the uncomfortable _non_ -curve of a chair at his back after but a moment of instinctive blinking.

then he notices the gray peering at him from the bed to his left and realizes he definitely stayed longer than he meant to.

(not that he originally intended to be here at all.)

he clears the grime from his throat and sits up a little straighter.

“...you talk a lot in your sleep for someone so quiet when they’re awake.”

gar cringes a little, lips tugging taught at the edges before he manages an only somewhat disgruntled (embarrassed) ‘sorry’. the other boy only shrugs and looks up at the ceiling instead, a small moment of respite from unsettling stares that gar secretly thanks him for. “...what did i say?”

keyword being ‘small’, that gray settling right back against his brown.

“in my sleep, i mean.”

the gray almost looks black in the shade, no glint to speak of in the dead of night, and it merely studies him aback the stretch of silence that lasts for far too many accelerating heartbeats than gar prefers until he wishes he never opened his mouth to begin with.

(it is a strange question to ask, now that he thinks about it.)

but then the moment is gone, drifts down to the shadows in the corners of the room soon to be forgotten, and jason shrugs and goes back to staring up at the ceiling.

“dunno. you mumble too much.” a flash of teeth, and his eyes meet his in something closer to casual and further from as exposed and fragile as before, something gar is once again silently thankful for. he relaxes a breadth back into his seat.

“what were you dreaming about?”

gar hums, stares at the ceiling with half-lidded shades of brown against white.

“... ironically? not green.”

it’s not an answer, in fact it’s a really bizarre thing to say without context, yet for some reason jason just smiles a smile that’s more sharp edges than smooth curves, and he thinks jason might get it.

* * *

_'cause these words  
aren't meant for anyone else  
but your family _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> don't hate me for posting this unfinished i'm sorrykdvj i hardly even remember the context for this fic, i just know i studied a BUNCH on severe burn wounds and had the recovery process nice and mapped out only to WASTE it i am a fool
> 
> anyways i hope u enjoyed <33 maybe i'll write more of them in the future bc titans is like a nice little comfort corner to me for whatever reason even if it's campy mvdks i just think found family tropes are neat 🥺
> 
> as always, please leave a comment if you're feelin generous, and if you want to reach me elsewhere, you can find me in the deep dark abyss


End file.
